


Sanctuary

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-01
Updated: 2001-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-06 08:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: JC finds peace in Chris.





	Sanctuary

"Fuck," Chris says, and repeats it, "fuck," like no one hears him the first time. Joey looks up from his magazine, frowning, and Chris just stares back, "fuck." 

"Do you wanna go talk to him because I don't." 

Chris stands up and walks to the window, watching Lance and Justin play basketball. Or Justin play because Lance just kind of stands there and looks pretty, losing. "Someone has to talk to him," Chris says, gesturing bleakly down the hall. "I'm. We don't do shit like that, Joe. Him and I, we don't." 

"Lame excuse," Joey says. "Leave him alone, then. You know his room's his sanctuary, anyway. Don't go there if you're not prepared to deal, man." 

Chris grunts and presses his head against the window. "He's crying, man. I can hear him." 

"Then go talk to him." 

Chris nods and walks down the hall slowly, knocking gently on the door, his knuckles scrapping against the smooth word. Inside, it's suddenly quiet, and Chris knocks again, knowing JC's heard him. "Jayce," he says, "open up." 

There's a long moment of silence before a bleak, "it's not locked." 

Chris twists the doorknob between his fingers and opens the door slowly, peering inside. The curtains are drawn, and it's mostly dark. The room's completely streamlined, all soft angles and flowing motion, decorated by JC himself and completely him in all regards. 

"You all right?" Chris asks feebly, trying not to look at the mottled, red face because crying makes Chris uncomfortable, which is why he rarely does it. JC shakes his head, the tragic artist, and Chris walks to the bed, stepping through the sea of crumpled paper. 

JC rolls his head slowly, pulling at his loose pants, like he tends to do when he's being watched, and Chris looks to the floor, wondering why he even asked when JC's so obviously not okay at all. The problem with Chris is he only knows how to comfort through laughter, and JC stopped laughing days ago. 

"You're a good songwriter, JC," Chris finally says, sitting next to JC and stroking his hair with gentle touches, doing it until JC leans into it a bit and looks up, teary-eyed. 

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" JC asks, trying to smile, but it comes out crooked and ugly, and Chris inwardly winces, not prepared for self-abuse. "Songwriter and JC?" 

Chris wants to hit him when he says it, wants to grab the boney body and say that the outside world doesn't know shit, but he just wraps his arms around JC and holds him. Sometimes, Chris has to be the mother because they're all so alone in their world of fame and fortune that they need loving comfort. Chris is the oldest; it's Chris's job. 

Chris doesn't really hug JC all that often, and when they do, they tend to stock up on them all at once so they won't miss each other too much in between the weeks where they don't touch at all. Chris doesn't know why this is. He just knows it's the way it's always been. They're not letting go, and it's a tight hold, desperate and longing. 

"I love Space Cowboy," Chris says, like it's some sort of powerful affirmation, that it'll make JC's world all right, and JC smiles into Chris's shoulder, ready to be modest and strike it down, but Chris continues, "no, man. I really do love it. The stuff you do, the stuff you write for us, I love it all the best." 

JC sniffs loudly. "But it's not very good." 

"Bullshit," Chris says with enough tenderness that JC snuggles in further and begins to feel soft and pliant in Chris's arms, not like the sharp mass of angles Chris felt upon first touch. "You're too hard on yourself, Jayce. You're doing this for you, man, not those people out there. They don't understand you like we do." 

JC nods, and Chris kisses the top of his head. It seems like the thing to do, but JC tenses up immediately, scared of this sudden change. Chris doesn't know why he does it, or why he's not moving his lips away, just keeps them buried in the wild hair and breathes deeply. It's just something he needs to do. 

"You're a great writer," Chris repeats, his hands stroking JC's back, smoothly up and down and waiting for the body to melt again and grow acquiescent in his lap. "We wouldn't know what to do without you, Jayce. We love you." 

And while Chris is saying we, his brain is thinking I, and he's not sure what to make of that, just that it seems right in his mind. He loves all of them, but in this moment, he loves JC the most, shut in JC's sanctuary and holding him tight.


End file.
